Morning After
by PopePrincess
Summary: Sam/Dean slash which means WINCEST Getting drunk together had been a good idea at the time. Dean woke up wondering where his brother was and where the chick on top of him had come from. Poor Dean's in for a bit of a shock :D


Morning After

Getting drunk together had been a good idea at the time.

Dean had woken up, brown hair tickling his nose and breath gusting over his neck. *Shit.* From the look of ceiling and what he could see without moving his neck, he was in the motel. So where the hell was Sam? And where the hell had this chick come from?

The last thing Dean could remember was bringing back several bottles of vodka, tequila and a few six packs of beer. Sammy had looked up, mouth all twisted up disapprovingly as part of his bitchface. Alcohol had meant to be a social lubricant so Sam would just fucking relax. The sight of those gargantuan shoulders constantly tensed had started hurting Dean's own back.

Dean shifted slightly on the bed, testing the girl's wakefulness. She snuffled but stayed asleep. Damn, she was *heavy*. Dean couldn't move his neck with her tucked up against him, but from what he could feel, she was very muscular. And didn't shave her legs.

Sleepy mumbled something, shifting again. And Dean felt a cylindrical body part no girl had roll across and down the hill and valley his hip bone created. He was in bed with a *guy*. A guy with an *erection*.

Dean clenched his teeth together to keep the scream in. If he freaked out about it Sam would probably lecture him about tolerance or whatever. Yeah, sure, two guys could do whatever they wanted to each other, but at no point did Dean want to be *involved*.

It was actually rather obvious now. The deeper breaths, the flat planes instead of soft breasts.

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. Where the hell was Sam? Had *Sam* had sex with a guy? Dean's hands tightened to fists as he imagined someone fucking his brother. In his mind, he couldn't comprehend Sam wanting it. Sam had never shown an interest in men before. So in every scenario his mind concocted his brother was drugged or struggling or unconscious.

He must be sleeping in Sam's motel bed because he could smell his brother. He must have his head on Sammy's pillow because all he seemed able to smell was Sam's girly shampoo. He could move his head to see the bathroom. So yes, if he was in the bed closest to the bathroom, he was in Sammy's bed. Dean always took the bed near the door because that's most likely where danger would come from, and Dean wanted anything threatening having to go through him before it reached his baby brother.

Then Dean had a much more important thought, shifting his hips, trying to figure out if, well, if he'd *bottomed*. He could barely move but there was no stabbing pain or whatever that he was sure something being inserted up a one-way avenue would cause.

"Sam," Dean whispered because maybe Sam was in the other bed or simply out of his line of vision.

"Dean," the body on top of mumbled, strong arms sliding beneath his body and circling his waist.

Oh no. No no no no no no.

No.

No.

NOOOOOO.

Shapeshifter, yes, yes, shapeshifter. Thank the lord Dean knew about the supernatural because otherwise he'd have no choice but to think that he'd—he'd...

Little details started surfacing that Dean desperately didn't want to notice. Like the fact that it made sense for Sam to be in *Sam's* bed, and the fact that it was highly unlikely they'd left the hotel room to meet strangers and bring them back after the point they'd drunk so much Dean couldn't remember what happened.

But, no. This was clearly a shape shifter that had drugged him and created this scene just to mess with him. Right. So where was the silver?

Dean's blade, the wickedly curved one Dad had given him for his 16th birthday, was made of silver. The one he always kept under his pillow. Dean slowly manoeuvred his hand beneath the pillow and found an unfamiliar blade. Of course, he was in Sam's bed.

Dean withdrew the blade regardless. It was of course made of silver like Dean's and Dean slowly brought the blade up to slide it along the fake Sam's back. Just testing, just in case. Just in case, oh God, if it was Sam.

Sam shifted, waking up and then suddenly his face was a few inches from Dean's.

"Ow, Dean. What? Ow! Did you just-" He reached up and touched his back, bringing his fingers away bloody. He turned his best indignant expression on Dean which actually increased in intensity relative to proximity. And Sam was only a few inches away. If Dean leant forward a little he could probably- no, bad thoughts. BAD.

Dean was going to get up, throw some holy water on the non-shape shifter, possibly exorcise his brother, and then dunk himself in holy water.

He watched as Sam rolled his eyes. "You thought I was a shape shifter? God, Dean, could you be any more capable at denial?"

"Shut up. You're not my brother!"

Sigh. "I'm going to have a shower. Maybe we can talk when you've calmed down a little."

Dean watched, paralysed, as Sam got up. Dried cum on their stomachs had formed a crust between their abdomens and Sam had to peel himself away. Dean watched as Sam scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up. He didn't miss the wince of pain at the movement.

Well at least that answered one question. Dean's mind brought back all of the scenarios where Sam had been attacked, had been forced, had been *raped*. That was *him*. *Dean* had done this to his brother.

Dean found himself curled up on his side away from Sam, breathing shallowly as Sam ran a hand down his arm.

"Dean! Dean? It's okay, man. Calm down. Dean!"

"Ohmigod Sammy, I'm so sorry," Dean wheezed.

"It's okay Dean. It's okay. I-I enjoyed it." Dean shook his head, disbelieving. Sam sighed in resignation. "You know... you know that I didn't have as much to drink as you right? That I remember what happened? So if I'd have wanted you not to- don't you think I would have said something? Don't you think I would have woken up and pushed you away, yelling about my virtue?"

Dean uncurled slightly, tears hazing his vision. "You... wanted it?"

Sam looked pointedly down at his stomach. It took Dean a minute to figure out what he meant. Because if Dean had topped, drunk as he was, he probably didn't have the presence of mind to pull out before he blew his wad. So that meant the liberal coating of dried spunk itching up a storm on their stomachs was... Sam's.

Dammit, the thought of his own cum inside his brother should not be making his groin tingle. The thought of his semen pulsing out of Sam's opening and running down his thighs shouldn't be raising his body temperature. Fuck. Knowing that if he pushed his fingers into his brother's hole he'd find the remainder of his cum still warm and gooey from Sam's body temperature, should not be making him want to fuck his brother again just to fill him up with more of his cum.

Clearly, they'd been cursed.

Dean sat up, hips still tilted to the side to hide his burgeoning erection. "O-okay then," Dean finally muttered.

"So you're alright now?" Sam asked. He was wearing his serious face, not that Dean really noticed with Sam standing with his hands on his hips, his erection not as stiff before, but clearly not put out.

Dean finally nodded, thinking maybe everything would be okay.

Then Castiel showed up.

No warning. Just poofed into the room, standing at the end of the bed. Bastard didn't even say anything, just slowly tilted his head to the right and gazed down the length of Dean's body.

*That* *definitely* shouldn't be getting him hot.

He was so cursed.

All the proof he needed was the unnatural way he felt when Castiel turned his head to look over Sam. But what kind of curse made you jealous when an angel stared at your brother's impressive erection? Which, by the way, only got harder under the scrutiny. So obviously the curse affected multiple people.

Dean sighed. There was going to be a lot of investigating to figure this one out.

Author's note: Clearly the boys *were* cursed. Otherwise Sam totally would have topped.


End file.
